Silent
by palmtreedragons
Summary: Sam just wants a peaceful, quiet life at Stanford, but his damn phone won't stop ringing. Pre-series One-Shot


**WOAH! Thanks for all your follows and favorites, guys! It's so awesome reading all your comments and reviews! Here's a little one-shot I thought of the other day and just got around to writing. It's a bit darker than the rest of my stories, but I couldn't shake the idea and was itching to publish it. I hope you guys like it as much as me :D**

 **Disclaimer: Do I even need to say it? Well, in case you are wondering, I am not the owner of anything SPN besides a poster and some Funkos.**

 **R &R is greatly appreciated!**

 **~palmtreedragons**

* * *

Nobody knew who Sam Winchester was. They knew he was incredibly smart, quiet, and that he took the term "introvert" to the extreme. But no one really knew anything else about the kid who just showed up at Stanford. And Sam wouldn't want it any other way.

Jess and Luis were about as close to Sam as anyone could get, being his girlfriend and best friend. They quickly fell into the habit of dragging him to parties, or thrusting him into a conversation with someone before he could make an escape. But, whether it be luck or coincidence, his phone would always ring. He was glad to use it as an excuse for such situations, but he would never answered it.

People quickly started noticing that Sam's phone never stopped ringing. It was always an unknown number, but it was always the same one. Jess never asked Sam about his past, but after a year or so went by, he became lenient, letting out little tidbits of information. Sam told himself constantly he wasn't lying; he was just telling half-truths.

* * *

His first week at Stanford had been hell, to put it mildly. Sam didn't mind being the lone wolf, and he didn't mind if he didn't make friends. That surprisingly wasn't a problem, because apparently people were fascinated by a silent guy with no history. But his lectures were just downright awful.

Sam loved his teachers. He loved the standards and lessons being taught. He just loved it all. But he wished he could leave his phone at home. He would have, had it not been for the reason that he would stand out like a sore thumb. _What college student didn't have a phone?_

But it always rang. Once an hour, at the least, he would get the call. And his phone would vibrate in his bag or his pocket, and he would have to deny it. Focusing on the lecture was almost impossible, and once he had, it either ended, or he received another call. As students began to pray to the college gods for good grades and a good year, all Sam prayed for was some quiet.

* * *

By his second month, he decided sleeping at Stanford was the worst. His complaints of not getting enough sleep were not unusual, due to most of his peers feeling overwhelmed with homesickness. But sleeping in a foreign room was nothing for Sam; growing up, he'd be lucky if they stayed in the same town for a month. But his phone would _never stop ringing_.

Ringer on or off, it was loud enough to keep Sam awake. If he tried hard enough, Sam was sure he could try to manage blissful sleep. But Sam was also sure it wasn't hard at all to think about who was calling, or where he was calling from, or whether it was life-or-death, and Sam's ignorance had just killed his brother.

* * *

At the end of his first year at Stanford, he was known as the guy who's phone never stopped ringing.

Sam saw her standing at the other side of the local bar. She was talking and laughing with another man with dark skin, who seemed much drunker than she did. She actually seemed pretty sober. The man sauntered away into the crowd as Sam made his way over to her, dodging a few tipsy juniors.

"Sam Winchester," he greeted politely, extending his hand. She eyed it cautiously, before grabbing and shaking it.

"You're the first gentleman I've met at this party so far," she said with a smile, causing Sam to laugh.

"This seat taken?" He gestured to the seat next to her, unoccupied. She shook her head. Taking a seat, Sam ordered a single beer and took in the sights and sounds of the atmosphere.

The girl next to him turned abruptly. "What, no pick-up lines? No flirting?"

Sam cracked a smile and shook his head. "Nope. Just here to unwind."

The girl poked Sam's shoulder. "Are you real?"

"What?"

"Guys like you don't actually exist. Only in fairy tales and stories and stuff. You're like a real-life Prince Charming."

Sam laughed again, loosening up a bit as he took a swig of his beer. "Well, I'm no Prince Charming."

"Kind, polite, _and_ modest. Prince Charming or not, you're the closest thing to it in this whole place. You're a bit quiet, though."

Sam genuinely smiled for the first time since he arrived at Stanford. Then his phone rang. He didn't either bother checking it.

"You need to take that?" the girl asked curiously.

"Nope," came Sam's reply almost immediately.

"Well," the girl said, flashing another smile, "in that case—"

Sam groaned when his phone rang again.

"You should probably get that—"

"No, no, really. It's alright," Sam quickly insisted, not wanting this conversation to go south—or end altogether.

Then she asked the question. "Who's calling?"

Sam was quick and smooth when he replied "Just someone I had a falling out with. It's no one, really."

"An ex-girlfriend?" she asked. Sam choked a bit on his beer.

"No, no. Nothing like that."

"Good," she said with finality. Then, a moment later, "My name's Jess, in case you were wondering. And Sam, call whoever it is. They must care for you." With that, the girl slid off her seat and headed into the crowd. Before Sam could speak, she disappeared completely.

* * *

Some of his most memorable moments at Stanford were interrupted by a call, a reminder of his old life once more encroaching upon his life at college he had worked so hard for.

He used to get calls everyday, twice a day. After a few months, once a week. After two years, once every couple of months. Little by little, Sam was getting the quiet he prayed for. He was finally gaining control of his life; he did the impossible and left his past behind. Sam, for once in his life, felt pretty happy. He had Jess and Luis, and he was acing his classes and he even knew some other people too. He wasn't known as "That One Guy" anymore, but as Sam.

Then it all happened at once.

A friend of a friend had met Sam for the first time, and they were saying their goodbyes. Sam waved and turned to walk away when he heard " _See ya later, Sammy!_ "

He froze, because only one person called Sam that, and that person wasn't here.

It shouldn't have bothered him as much as it had. Two years was an awful long time. He hadn't gotten a call in months and, if he was honest, he still wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. With his mind still spinning, Sam walked back to his dorm in silence, oblivious to the occasional hello or wave as he passed people he knew. His phone rang, and he absentmindedly reached for it and answered. "Hello?"

There was a long pause on the other end. Sam realized with horror what was happening, but he was too slow to close his phone.

" _Sammy?_ " Sam was frozen, in body and mind. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think. _This was actually happening_.

" _You still there?_ "

"Yeah."

Another pause.

" _It's been a while, huh? You haven't answered me. Not once_."

Sam tried to ignore the hurt tone in his brother's voice. All his work rebuilding his life, years of distancing and lies and heartache brought down in seconds. "I have to go."

" _Sam, wait_ —"

"Don't call again." Sam ended the call.

By the time that day was done, Sam had gone out and bought another phone, and shoved the old one in the back of his sock drawer.

* * *

Two and a half years away from home. His years at Stanford had been great, and he hadn't regretted a day of it. But his ringing phone had become a part of it. It was Stanford _and his ringing phone_.

Sam was used to "Quiet." When hunting, you _had_ to be quiet, otherwise you couldn't get the jump on the bad things you were trying to kill. Sometimes Sam would spend hours waiting, not moving a muscle and scarcely breathing, for a ghoul or a vampire or something to show its face. Sam was used to "Quiet," but he was not at all used to "Quiet and Alone." For once, it was quiet, and Dean wasn't at his side.

Staring at the ceiling, Sam couldn't sleep. He couldn't sleep because it was quiet and he was alone. He couldn't sleep because he missed the ringing of his phone. He couldn't sleep because he closed his eyes and he saw his goofy-grinned, wide-eyed, heavy-metal loving big brother.

Sam couldn't sleep because it wasn't just quiet anymore. It was completely silent.


End file.
